We Have Always Been Here
Page 31
Taban: Another day, another bunch of ice to put in a bucket, huh?
Daley (grunt): You coming with me?
Taban: Nah. I’ve got other repairs to run.
Daley: What do you mean? You said the FTL drive is good to go.
Taban: It is. But this is an old ship. Might as well patch up some of the other stuff so we don’t run the risk of getting stranded again. Next time there won’t be a shiny new planet to land on.
Daley: You making fun of me?
Taban: What? No.
Daley: I feel like you are.
Taban: I’m not.
Daley: It’s a two-man job out there. We’d probably find something quicker if you helped look.
Taban: I’ve been helping. You know I want to find good shit as much as you do. If anything, I don’t want to turn up to ISF empty-handed . . . You know the punishment for venturing into unregulated space can be banishment to a prison colony?
Daley (glancing at the HARE): The thing tell you that?
Taban: Maybe. Yeah. Maybe.
Daley: I heard you talking to it, last night. When you thought I was asleep. I could hear you through the wall. Telling it stories.
Taban: Sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you up.
Daley: It’s fine.
Taban: And they’re not stories. Well, I mean, I guess they are. We just talk about myths and shit.
Daley: You tell it stories before bed.
Taban: Tell him, HARE.
HARE: We discussed the tale of Prometheus having his liver devoured by eagles. It was an unjust fate.
Daley (casting Taban a look of contempt): . . . Wow.
Taban: . . . It helps to talk to it. Even to have it play its stupid music. You know I’ve been having nightmares every time I go to sleep?
Daley: Nightmares?
Taban: Yeah. Like . . . dreams that I’m getting frozen. Like I can’t move, something’s stopping me from moving, my tongue’s gone. And I get this feeling like someone’s going to split my chest open. You don’t get dreams like that?
Daley: . . . No.
Taban: . . . How’s your heart feeling?
Daley: It’s fine. I’ll see you later.
[Daley seals off the cockpit door. In a moment the sounds of the ship’s airlock opening can be heard. Daley departs the ship.]
Taban (turning to the HARE): So? Did they receive the distress signal?
HARE: It is unknown how far away the nearest ISF outpost is. Given that we could only repair the communications system to half-strength, I cannot accurately estimate how long it would take for the signal to reach a manned ship or outpost.
Taban: Give me your best guess.
HARE: 28% likelihood that someone has received the signal by now. Again, this estimate is flawed. I could use my own resources to boost its strength—
Taban: —but doing so would drain your battery. I know. It’s okay.
HARE: Are you certain?
Taban: Yeah. I would only do that as an absolute last-ditch resort . . . So I’m okay with waiting for now. I don’t want to lose you and be left alone with—you know. No, I won’t do that.
HARE: Thank you.
Taban: Don’t mention it. And the ship’s tracking beacon is functioning okay?
HARE: Yes. There is also one in each of your IEVA suits.
Taban: Good to know. Though I don’t think I’ll be venturing out there again any time soon. Not after that whole thing with going north, and “the man.” I don’t know how Daley does it.
HARE: He appears not to remember the anomalies of the other day.
Taban: I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse.
HARE: Yes.
Taban: Well, I suppose all we’ve got to do is wait it out.
HARE: Yes.
Taban: You remember what I taught you last night?
HARE: Yes. I remember.
Taban: Okay. You go first.
HARE (processors whirring): I have identified an object that is suitable for our activity.
Taban: Okay. Is it a person?
HARE: Negative.
Taban: Is it a food?
HARE: Negative.
Taban: Is it an animal?
HARE: Negative.
Taban: Is it a machine?
HARE: Negative.
Taban: Is it something I can touch?
HARE: Negative.
Taban: . . . Let’s go back to the other game.
HARE (processors whirring): I have identified an object that is suitable for our activity. You would describe it as being the color gray.
Taban: Say it like I told you.
HARE (processors whirring): I spy something gray.
VIDEO LOG #55—Ship Designation CS Wyvern 7079
Day 10: 12:45 UTO
[Taban and the HARE are still in the cockpit. Taban is climbing out of the hatch in the floor that leads to the cargo hold and galley.]
Taban: Okay, I’ve got my lunch. How are we on rations?
HARE: 45 days of full rations remain. More if you and USER Daley eat in half-portions.
Taban: So 90 days left. That’s cushy—more than enough for someone to get our signal and fly out here.
HARE: Yes.
Taban: Let’s see what we’ve got. Crossing my fingers for fried chicken. Fried chicken, fried chicken, fried chicken . . .
HARE: I wish you luck.
Taban (poking open the foil ration packet): Maple sausage. And yams. Hm.
HARE: Congratulations.
Taban: Why congratulate me? It’s not what I wanted.
HARE: It is still nutrition.
[The airlock of the Wyvern opens. Daley clambers in, his suit encrusted in frost.]
Taban: Welcome back. Lunch is ready.
Daley (climbing out of his suit): Oh, yeah? . . . Smells like maple sausage again.
Taban: That’s mine. Try yours; you might get lucky.
[Daley lumbers over into the cockpit. His face is red from exertion, his lips chapped and flaking from hours of exposure to the Eotian cold. He plops down across from Taban and the HARE and accepts another ration packet, shaking it to begin the self-heating process.]
Daley: I went out past the second marker, this time. More in the direction of those shards we saw.
Taban: What’d you get? Fried chicken?
Daley: The terrain changes a bit, out there. Instead of all . . . webby, the ice gets clear. Glacial. Like walking on glass, in places.
Taban: Oh, it’s curry. Why don’t they ever think these things through, the people that make this stuff? Who doesn’t get the shits from curry? And who wants to be trapped aboard a vacuum of limited air with someone who has the shits?
Daley: I’m going to try to push farther out in that direction tomorrow. I’ve got a feeling about it.
Taban: Oh, yeah?
Daley: Yeah. Maybe I’ll find something noteworthy before your reinforcements get here.
Taban: . . .
Daley (eating): . . .
HARE: . . .
Taban: . . . What did you say?
Daley: You heard me. I said, “Maybe I’ll find something noteworthy before your reinforcements get here.”
Taban: What are you . . . talking about?
Daley: You think I’m an idiot? When you activate the ship’s distress beacon, the undercarriage flashes. I know you called for help.
Taban: But the snow covers it up.
Daley: It must have melted. What the fuck is wrong with you?
Taban: Look, Daley, I—
Daley: I clue you in to the discovery of a lifetime, and you pay me back by calling ISF before we’re ready? What’s wrong with you? We agreed not to repair the comm—
Taban: We never agreed to that. We just agreed to
fixing the FTL drive first. Which I did.
Daley: Don’t try to twist it around. What are we going to do if they get here and we don’t have shit to show them? They’re going to throw our asses in—what did you call it? A prison colony? Where would they even have that?
Taban (quietly): Pandora.
Daley: Great. Pandora.
Taban: Look. After that time you ran out of oxygen—and you kept wanting to go out—and you saw some guy—I don’t think you’re well, Daley. This, all of this—scrubbing through the ice? Looking for something we can give to ISF? We’re not scientists, man. We don’t have tools. We wouldn’t know something of value on this planet if it kicked us in the teeth. We’re wasting our time out here. I think you know that.
Daley (eating): . . .
Taban: I got scared. When you were in the medical pod.
Daley: You were scared?
Taban: Yeah, I was scared! You were either going to die and I would have needed to call them to come rescue me anyway, or you were going to recover and stay obsessed with being here. And even if I could fly the ship, I wouldn’t want to take it and leave you here alone. But I want to go home, Daley. You remember that? Home?
Daley: . . .
Taban: And look, maybe they’ll send researchers who’ll be able to help you look. Better than I’ve been able to. I just want to go home. Maybe help comes, half of them stay with you, half of them take me back. You can have all the credit.
Daley: It’s our planet. Both of ours. We both found it.
Taban: You’re the one who got us lost. You’re the one who landed us here. It’s yours. Keep it. I’m not interested.
Daley: . . . Were you going to turn me in to them? In exchange for letting you off the hook? Were you going to say it was all my idea?
Taban: What? No! It’s like I said—I just want to go home.
Daley: HARE. Was that his plan? He ask you to help him fix the comm so he could make me the sacrificial lamb?
HARE: I don’t understand your question.
Daley: Piece of shit.
Taban: Look. Just don’t be angry.
Daley: I’m not angry. Do I seem angry to you?
Taban: Well—sort of. I don’t know. No. But still. I think this is for the best.
Daley: Fine. Whatever. I guess it’s less for me to worry about if you fuck off to wherever. Maybe they will send someone more useful. It could still work out.
Taban: Yeah, exactly. See? It’s for the best.
Daley: Fuck you.
VIDEO LOG #55—Ship Designation CS Wyvern 7079
Day 10: 17:45 UTO
[Taban is now in his bunk, which is partitioned off from Daley’s. The HARE has accompanied him; it seems it has become routine for the HARE to enter sleep mode in Taban’s quarters.]
Taban: That went well, I guess.
HARE: . . .
Taban: You didn’t tell him, did you? About the distress beacon?
HARE: Negative. USER Daley has never interacted with me without you present.
Taban: I thought so. But—how did he know? You said the light on the undercarriage of the ship is broken.
HARE: It is. Unless he fixed it, USER Daley should not have been able to see it flashing.
Taban: Then how does he know we repaired the comm system?
HARE: I am unable to answer your query at this time.
Taban: . . . Well, whatever. It’s all out in the open now, I guess.
HARE: Yes.
Taban: It’s for the best.
HARE: . . .
Taban: They’ll probably have received the signal by now. Give them—what—two weeks to send an unmanned ship to do a flyby, send some images back to ISF? Then the actual rescue comes ten days, two weeks after?
HARE: These estimates seem fairly accurate.
Taban: We can do that. That sounds easy. Just sit on our asses and wait.
HARE: USER Daley will continue his exploration of the planet, designation: HARPA in the meantime.
Taban: Maybe. Or maybe he’ll get tired of scratching around in the ice and stop. Sooner or later he’s got to realize it’s a pipe dream.
HARE: What is a ‘pipe dream’?
Taban: It’s an old phrase. It’s like—a fantasy that’s impractical.
HARE: Are fantasies not impractical by nature?
Taban: No, like—it’s an illusion. It’s a dream you have that can never come true, because it’s so fantastic. It’s like me when I was a kid, thinking I was going to grow up to be a gridball star.
HARE: And this was impossible?
Taban: Kind of. By the time I grew up, they were figuring out that sports are kind of pointless on Mars.
HARE: How does a pipe factor in?
Taban: Who knows. Maybe it’s saying something about the destination. Dreams. Hopes. Sports. Names. At some point they all go down the shitter.
VIDEO LOG #56—Ship Designation CS Wyvern 7079
Day 10: 21:22
[The HARE is moving around the ship in the dark. Although the HARE itself is able to see in infrared and with night-vision, it does not apply these filters while recording its live footage. It enters a dark room, peers into it for a while, then returns to Taban’s bunk. Taban is sleeping fitfully on his right side.]
HARE: USER Taban.
Taban: Huh?
HARE: USER Taban. Your attention is required.
Taban (gasping): What?
HARE: Your attention is required.
Taban: Oh, it’s you. I was having another dream—a nightmare—I thought maybe you were talking to me. Or someone else was. Was that you?
HARE: I was speaking to you.
Taban: Oh. What’s going on?
HARE: USER Daley is gone.
Taban: Gone—what do you mean, gone?
HARE: USER Daley is no longer in his bunk. USER Daley has exited the ship.
Taban: What time is it?
HARE: Unclassified solar major set six hours ago.
Taban: That’s the middle of the night! It’s freezing out there—and dark as hell. How long has he been gone?
HARE: Undetermined. I can check the ship’s logs.
Taban: Do that. And get my suit. Goddamn him, we said we’d never go out at night. What’s he thinking?
HARE: You require your suit?
Taban: Yes. We have to go out and get him.
VIDEO LOG #56—Ship Designation CS Wyvern 7079
Day 10: 21:52
[It’s nighttime outside, though the sky is barely visible. Taban is struggling to move against blasts of howling wind, which whip frost and chunks of ice into the air in gray waves. He fights to lunge forward with every step, while the HARE leads the way by a meter, scanning their surroundings in 180-degree arcs.]
Taban: Goddamn it! There’s no way he’s out here!
HARE: He must be.
Taban: But how will we find him? There aren’t even any footprints!
HARE: There is a slight heat signature in the air. This must come from USER Daley.
Taban: Goddamn him!
[Together they struggle through the blizzard. Glimpses of the terrain show that it has changed, though they’ve scarcely moved one kilometer from the ship. The usual white flatness has changed to fields of dark, smooth ripples, low and regular, like frozen waves of glass. Taban struggles to step over the hard crest of each ‘wave,’ but doesn’t comment on (or notice?) the transformed landscape.]
[After several minutes of traveling, it’s clear that Taban is struggling to go on.]
Taban: Shit. This is so fucking hard. (looking at his sensor glove) And my oxygen’s already at 50%! How is that possible?
HARE: I am unsure.
Taban: We’ve only been out here thirty minutes. Daley’s been out here for, what, hours? Is there any way he’s s
till alive?
HARE: We’re following the infrared trail of something.
Taban: Goddamn it. (heavy breathing)
HARE: Do you require assistance?
Taban: No, I’m all right. As soon as we find him, I’m dragging him back and locking him up. We can do that thing we talked about. Turn the medical bay into a kind of cell. Just until ISF arrives.
HARE: USER Daley will most likely be uncooperative.
Taban: I’m tired of being cooperative. Seriously. I’ve let him put us in enough danger as it is. It’s over now.
HARE: I have not been in danger.
Taban: He was planning to send you out in all of this. Every night. Trust me, you would have been in danger.
HARE: Thank you.
Taban: You don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve that. We’re just doing our jobs. That’s all it is to us. Just jobs. You explore, I mine. We’re just doing our jobs.
HARE: Yes.
Taban: Him, though . . . (panting) Him, it’s way beyond that. It’s an obsession. Like a madness. It’s bad shit.
HARE: (pausing to analyze the terrain ahead) (beeping)
Taban: What?
HARE: There is a living organism ahead.
Taban: . . . Daley?
HARE: Undetermined. There are anomalies. Interference. I need to be closer to know.
Taban: Fuck.
[Cautiously, the two pick their way forward. It seems impossible to see anything in the murkiness of the night. Taban consistently bumps into the knee-high, dark waves. He curses. After several moments, the HARE speaks.]
HARE: The organism is just ahead.
[Taban stops dead in his tracks.]
Taban: I don’t see anything.
HARE (processors whirring): It is USER Daley.
[Taban stumbles forward, tripping still over the curves in the ground. Suddenly, on the swell of one, Hap Daley’s round, armored body appears. He is cradled face-down in the dip of the wave, with his arms outstretched, as if he had collapsed while crawling.]
Taban: Jesus!
HARE: He is alive.
[Taban approaches clumsily, rolling Daley over onto his back. As soon as he does, Daley reaches out and seizes his helmet, gasping.]
Taban: Fuck, Daley! Let go! It’s me!
Daley: Did you see it? Did you see it?